Film Name: 龙凤智多星 / The Intellectual Trio / 龍鳳智多星
I clicked on this movie because of Leslie, and the title perfectly captures my viewing experience—devoted to you, pouring out my sincerity. I noticed that Leslie’s early screen personas were all playboys, likely due to his looks and charisma. Here it’s actually fine, but the “Crazy Romance” theater next door was brutal—I couldn’t stand all those women throwing themselves at him.
Brother, are you promoting another song? “Devoted To You” not only echoes the opening and closing, but the tape player mid-scene plays this very track. Only you could use a racy song as an insert piece with such straight-faced seriousness. I used to hum “H2O” constantly, loving its catchy melody, but after reading the lyrics, I dare not sing it aloud anymore. It makes me think—at concerts, you never forget the lyrics to those racy songs.
The plot is so weak it’s hard to even criticize. You actually told me Wong Kar-wai was one of the screenwriters? The single-eyelid character’s death was utterly inexplicable. I seriously doubt they couldn’t follow the script to make her double eyelids prettier than her sister’s, so they just killed her off instead. The four characters’ romantic development lacks groundwork. Seriously, a single drinking contest where they hold their pee is supposed to erase all past grievances? And then they’re suddenly burning up the screen together in the time it takes to watch an MV? Setting all that aside, the cast does have its standout moments. Sandy Lam’s appearance deserves special mention—who knew she looked like that back then? Truly eye-opening. She also had a cameo in the 1984 film “Merry Christmas,” meaning I’ve actually seen her even earlier screen appearances. I kept wondering why the name Ni Shujun (the double-eyelid actress) felt so familiar—turns out I’d seen her in “The Chinese Feast,” probably thanks to bullet comments back then. Lou Nanguang’s character is kinda adorable. The scene where he paints shorts with paint had me laughing out loud—right up there with Stephen Chow painting a tie in “All’s Well, Ends Well.” And let’s throw in his classic line: when asked why he speaks Cantonese, he replies—Before coming to Hong Kong, I bought a few cassette tapes of Leslie Cheung. Listening to them taught me a thing or two. As for Leslie, why the cross-dressing again? The gunplay in that era was just too over-the-top.
Recently, I finally attended my brother’s passionate concert—something I’d hesitated to do for fear of misunderstanding it and disrespecting the artistry. After experiencing it, I deeply realized he is a true artist. Whether in the form of expression, the concepts conveyed, or the elevated themes, everything was flawless. This was a narrative-driven “performance” and “concert,” using meticulously selected songs to depict the transformation from angel to devil to human. The costumes and intricate details were worthy of close examination: the angel descending to earth wore white and bore a tear tattoo, later transforming into a devil who gradually darkened and developed a demonic mark on his head. During the song “Pillow,” feathers cascading from the sky at the climax served a dual purpose: echoing the song’s title while symbolizing the angel shedding its wings, fully embracing betrayal. Finally, dressed in a bathrobe, I embodied a lyric faithful to self and heart—beyond knowing how to love others, the most crucial lesson is learning to appreciate yourself. Some always walk ahead of their time, enduring societal scorn; this is likely the price of being ahead of the curve.
Sadly, as a youngster back then, I was fed nothing but Hong Kong media’s malicious commentary—calls of “long-haired Sadako,” “neither man nor woman,” “losing one’s dignity in old age.” My dad even occasionally brought these up as jokes. But if you truly felt it, the long hair actually lent the look a sense of harmony. The mainland’s enthusiastic short-haired version? Weak as hell, honestly. The artist himself once confessed: those who live life to its extreme must embody androgyny. He deliberately grew a beard, flexed muscles, donned women’s clothing, let his hair flow long, and used a deep, husky voice to lay bare these contradictory elements before your eyes—bewitching all who saw him. Without madness, there is no life. He was a man who embraced self-transcendence. His 1989 farewell concert elevated dapperness to an unparalleled height, while his 1997 concert redefined the suit as a signature aesthetic found nowhere else. He constantly surprised us with effortless innovation, relentlessly pushing boundaries—undoubtedly his life philosophy.
That topic was a bit heavy, so let’s lighten things up. After watching Passion, only one line from Brother Ling lingers in my mind—I’m so sick of your dirty jokes. His medleys of naughty songs were always on point, with “Ce Mian” and “Fang Dang” being a perfect match. Sideways was a fleeting challenge, but honestly, these were just old tricks he’d already mastered. The raunchy lyrics paired with Brother’s passionate delivery were almost too much to watch—he’d get so into it he’d start laughing himself. “Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter” is a favorite of mine; the lighting changed with the seasons’ colors, a truly unique touch. In “Pei Ni Dao Shu,” his crimson attire radiates regal presence—this time, he’s not messing around. One more provocation, and he’ll unleash Godzilla upon you. “American Pie,” his audition track, unfurls like a serpentine melody. Now stripped of artifice, it carries a serene acceptance—as if echoing the cycle of fate.
Few things bring me joy, but Mr. Leslie Cheung is undoubtedly one of them.
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